


In the Closet

by redheadgrrl1960



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Closets, F/F, Locked In, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 13:16:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadgrrl1960/pseuds/redheadgrrl1960
Summary: This was originally posted on fanfiction.net in February, 2012 - some readers reached out for me to also post it here. Sure thing!!!





	In the Closet

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on fanfiction.net in February, 2012 - some readers reached out for me to also post it here. Sure thing!!!

 

Another late evening, after another cold, miserably sloshy winter day. Andy Sachs sighed, a sound full of fatigue and exhaustion, as she unlocked the door to her boss' townhouse. Miranda Priestly, revered and feared in equal parts, was editor-in-chief of _Runway_ , the leading fashion magazine in the country, and, counting the daughter publications in Europe, Asia and Australia, the world.

As usual, it was Andy's job to deliver Miranda's dry-cleaning every evening, as well as The Book. The Book was the most sacred item in the world to Miranda. It was the dummy version of the newest issue of _Runway_ , which Miranda worked on from her home every evening, or perhaps morning, only to turn over to the staff at the office the next day filled with scathing remarks and harsh critique. The best the junior editors could hope for was no comments. Praise was out of the question.

Andy struggled with the heavy garment bags, afraid she might drop any of them. There were more than usual and they kept sliding. She opened the closet door, turned on the light and stepped inside to hang the bags on the rack. Carefully, she spaced the hangers just so and turned to go back to the hallway. The door had closed and when she turned the handle—nothing. It simply wouldn’t budge. Wiggling it, Andy sighed, as annoyed as she was tired, wanting nothing but to go home and climb into bed. She tried again. Nothing. Placing The Book on the shelf next to her, she used both hands to feel for a key, or a lock to a deadbolt, or _something_ , but the door wouldn't open, and there was no lock. How was this even possible?

Blowing her bangs out of her eyes, Andy groaned. She felt like kicking the door open, but the thought of causing damage to Miranda's property was enough to make her blood run cold. "Just great. Just freakin' great."

Miranda wasn't home yet. The house had been dark and quiet, so clearly the new musical premiering tonight wasn't over yet. It was Friday, and Andy had not made any plans for the weekend as Doug, her best and only friend outside of _Runway_ these days, was out of town, and she didn't feel like accompanying Emily and Serena clubbing. Andy confessed she was just too tired.

She tried the door again, several times, but still the lock wouldn't budge. She was just about to kick it, when she remembered she had brand new Blahniks on. Miranda would easily strangle her if she made an indentation on both the shoes and the door.

Andy groaned. What the hell was she going to do? There was no use calling anybody at _Runway_ , since Andy had the only key available and they wouldn't be able to get in the front door, let alone pry open the damn closet door. Calling a locksmith was an even dumber idea. "Hello, I'm Andy. I'm stuck in my boss' closet. Can you come and break into the townhouse belonging to the most feared woman in all of New York?" Andy huffed at how her voice sounded meek even to herself. "Great."

She would just have to wait for Miranda. Perhaps Miranda wouldn't even notice that Andy was in her closet and she would have all night to figure something out. Maybe she could find something in the closet to pry the lock open with. She realized she was grasping at straws. Then her eyes fell upon The Book. "Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit." Why had she brought The Book with her inside? Thudding her head against the door, she whimpered. "Because I do. I always do." The dry-cleaning was always so heavy; she couldn't wait to get rid of it, not even to just place The Book on the side table right next to the closet.

"I'm so dead. So very, very dead."

Suddenly her phone rang, making Andy cry out. Glancing at the display, she felt herself go pale. Miranda. "H-hello, Miranda?"

"Have you delivered The Book yet?"

"Um. Yeah. I mean, yes. I have. It's at the house." That wasn't a lie. Not really.

"I'm stuck in traffic, which boggles the mind since it's this late. I can't for the life of me understand why people can't simply just drive and get out of the way." Miranda huffed. "Where are you?"

"Still at the house." Andy closed her eyes hard.

"I see. Well, fine." Miranda hung up.

"Oh, God, she's going to murder me." Andy sank down onto the floor. She kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs up. The closet seemed cooler than the rest of the house. It was probably good for the clothes or something.

The minutes stretched and every now and then, Andy hopefully tried the doorknob, but to no avail. She heard the muted sound of the front door opening and closing. Heels clattered as the person, and of course it was Miranda, walked through the hallway. Suddenly she stopped and then Andy's phone rang. She quickly pressed answer and scurried to the far end of the deep closet on hands and knees.

"Yes, Miranda," she murmured into the phone. Panic was now flooding her system. She was so toast and would be fired if not now, then in five seconds.

"Andrea? Why are you whispering? Never mind. Where is The Book?"

"The Book…"Andy didn't know what to say.

"You said you brought it to the house. Were you lying?" Menacing, Miranda's voice was now a low growl.

"No, no. I wasn't lying. The Book's at the house," Andy hissed.

"I'm standing right here and I don't see it. Where did you put it?"

"It's—it's in the closet." Andy whimpered and curled up. God. She was so fired and without a paycheck she would have to leave New York, move back to her parents’, and—

"Don't be ridiculous, Andrea. Why would you put it there?" Miranda's steps came closer and Andy heard her yank at the doorknob. "I can't get it open. What's going on, Andrea?" Miranda sounded equal parts annoyed and frustrated. Not to mention tired.

"I'm so sorry, Miranda." Tears rose in Andy's eyes. "It shut behind me and I couldn't open it again."

"It shut _behind_ you—Andrea, are you still in there?" Miranda sounded incredulous.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

How could she possibly answer that? Andy cringed. "I…I freaked."

"Whatever for?"

"I knew you'd fire me." Her words came out before she had time to edit herself. Andy tugged at her bangs.

"For a mishap?"

What? Miranda fired people for mishaps all the time! "Yes?"

Miranda hung up.

Andy wasn't sure she wanted to know what was going on outside the door. She barely heard Miranda talk to someone and then step closer again. "Can you hear me, Andrea, or do I need to dial you again?"

"Um, I hear you." Crawling on hands and knees, Andy sat down just inside the door.

"Emily's arranging for a locksmith."

"Thank you."

"No need. You can't very well remain in there indefinitely."

"I really am sorry, Miranda—"

"You already told me that. No need to become repetitious."

"Sor—I mean, all right. So, did you have fun tonight?" Oh, no. Whatever possessed her to attempt small talk with Miranda?

"It was an agreeable evening. I predict the show will run for quite some time. You should see it, Andrea."

Andy's jaw dropped. _Conversation?_ "I just might. I love musicals."

"As do I. Any favorite singers?"

"For musicals?" Andy began to relax a little bit. "I adore Julie Andrews, Bernadette Peters, and Elaine Page. Kristen Chenoweth and Edina Menzel from Wicked."

"We share a lot of the same taste. It's a crime what happened to Julie's voice."

"Yes. I agree."

The silence stretched after that. Andy didn't know what to say, afraid of boring Miranda with questions, or anger her with silly comments. She tried to think of a topic that might do neither. "You must be happy to have the twins back from their trip to Europe on Sunday."

"I am. I have missed them terribly."

"Four weeks, that's too long for a mom, I suppose." Andy scooted closer to the door, leaning against it. "I'm sure they called you though."

"At least every other day. They emailed me pictures often, which was quite lovely. Cassidy is a good photographer. Caroline the better writer."

"I could guess when you heard from them."

"Oh?"

_Shit!_ Andy knew she was toast anyway, so she figured she might as well be honest. "Sometimes when you read your email, you had the softest smile and your eyes…um, would be shiny. Like with tears? I figured that was from missing them."

"You're very observant." Miranda sounded noncommittal, which was odd, but also worrying.

"I've worked for you long enough to read some of your expressions. It's what a good assistant does, Miranda. If she wants to keep her job."

"I imagine so. What else have you learned from 'reading' me?" The air-quotation marks were readily audible.

"When you're upset with people you hate, like Irv, your eyes look grey, rather than blue. Not sure how they change like that, but they do. The difference is, when you're upset with someone you usually like, let's say Nigel, you fiddle with your necklace, your belt, or bracelets."

"Go on."

Andy thought fast. Perhaps this was a bad idea, but not following the soft order delivered through the door, was even worse. "When you are mystified, surprised, or even intrigued, you rub your fingers, or the frame of your glasses, across your…lips." Andy gasped. Suddenly the closet was not cold at all, but hot and humid. Had she just mentioned Miranda's lips and the word rub in the same sentence?

"You seem to have far too much time on your hands if you have time to make such in-depth studies of me."

"No. It's pretty much on autopilot. The study part, I mean. It makes it possible for me to do my job well. If I can prevent any trouble or problem by reading you right, I'm closer to succeeding. It saves time, and time is something you don't have that I can give you. If I get it right and don't lock myself into a closet. Especially yours. Now you're wasting time waiting for The Book after all." Andy hated failing Miranda, no matter what the issue was. The deep-rooted desire to be there for her, make her life easier and less worrisome, went beyond the editor-assistant dynamic. Andy had not seen Miranda give a true full blown smile many times, if ever, but if she could at least help give her boss more time with her daughters, something Andy knew was a constant source of sadness for Miranda. Knowing she failed tonight, even if the girls weren't home, was a hard pill to swallow. Andy sighed and wiped at her cheeks.

"Andrea? Are you crying?" Miranda sounded startled.

How could she know? It wasn't as if she was bawling out loud, Andy thought. "I'm fine. I'm okay." Afraid that she had mascara stains on her cheeks, Andy rubbed at them. "J-just a little tired."

"No wonder. It is getting late."

The doorbell rang as if on cue. Miranda's step showed she went to open. Murmuring voices approached shortly after that.

"I'll get it open in no time, ma'am."

"Good. My—friend has been suffering in there long enough."

_Friend?_ Andy's brain stalled at the word.

There was a strange clicking noise, some pulling and then the door magically opened out into the hallway. Andy hadn't even had time to get onto her feet.

"There we go. You all right in there, ma'am?"

"I'll take it from here. Send your bill to my assistant at _Runway_." Miranda quickly dismissed the locksmith and walked him to the door. "That's all." Returning, she looked down at Andy for a moment before speaking. "Are you going to stand up and get out of there, preferably before the door closes again?"

"Oh. Sure. Yes." Andy rose from the floor and, thinking quickly, grabbed The Book and handed it to Miranda. "Here you go."

Miranda placed it on the side table without so much as a glance. She kept her gaze locked on Andy, light blue and piercing. "You have me at an advantage. I don't read you as well as you claim you do me." Miranda's cheeks colored faintly and Andy wondered if the was aware of the double entendre in the last of her words.

"What would you like to know?" Andy carefully closed the closet door behind her, making sure it didn't lock completely.

"My first question should be obvious." Miranda tugged at her long necklace, then caught herself and stopped. "You seem to have a point," she conceded. "Now, I want to know… Can I could persuade you to stay the night?"

 

_Stay the night?_ Andy stared at the composed woman in front of her. Impeccable and gorgeous as usual, Miranda looked like she'd just suggested they have a cup of coffee or something. "Um. Why—why would you, I mean, why should I…you mean here?" There was no way Andy would be able to think clearly right now. Her body was humming at the sight of Miranda, and that was hardly a new thing, and her brain had turned to mush.

"Of course here. Where else would I suggest you stay? The neighbor’s?" Miranda smirked. "I'm sure Mrs. de Witt would be pleasantly surprised, but she is after all in her eighties and I'm sure she's in bed by now. It's quite late."

"This doesn't make sense, Miranda," Andy dared to object, knowing this didn't go down well with her boss.

"How can I explain it to you then, Andrea? I mean, in a way that you're currently challenged mind can understand."

"You can start with why." Andy leaned against the side table with a sigh.

"You're demonstrating the why as we speak." Miranda echoed the sigh. "You're fatigued, it's very late, and the weather is going from bad to worse. I don't want my assistant to either come down with pneumonia, or fracture arms and legs, and thus miss work."

Deflated at the, naturally, practical reasons, Andy blinked against the burning sensation behind her eyelids. Of course. _Runway_ came first. Work. "I'm sure I'll be fine," she murmured, mortified at how husky she sounded all of sudden.

"Andrea, don't be ridiculous. You're staying." Miranda stepped closer, well into Andy's personal space. "I will not hear anything out of that mouth of yours than ‘yes, Miranda.’ Understood?"

The words “mouth of yours” were enough to send hot arrows to Andy's breasts and between her legs. She blanched, so certain that Miranda could indeed read her better than she thought, it scared her. If Miranda saw the effect she had on Andy, she would throw her out fast enough to hit orbit.

"Yes, Miranda," Andy said breathlessly. "If you insist."

"There. Why you have to make everything so difficult, I'll never know." Miranda tilted her head. "Are you hungry?"

"N-no. I had a pizza delivered while I waited for The Book."

"Pizza." Miranda seemed to rein herself in before she said something else. "All right. Come along, Andrea." She started up the stairs, not waiting to see if Andy complied.

On the second floor, Miranda walked into one of the rooms and Andy hesitantly followed, until she saw it was Miranda's own bedroom. She stopped at the threshold, taking in the soothing neutral colors, interspersed with aqua here and there. It was a stunning room with a four-poster king-sized bed. Miranda's bed. Lush with tons of pillows, it looked so inviting Andy felt it like a punch to her stomach. It was not the first time something about Miranda had made her feel that way, but this was a piece of furniture, for heaven's sake. Andy didn't know what to do. She just stood there, holding onto the doorframe.

"I thought these might—Andrea? You're not looking well. What's wrong?" Miranda returned, holding something that looked like silk pajamas and a pair of plush slippers.

"I'm okay. Really." Of course, that lie didn't fly with Miranda.

"Andrea." Miranda's voice was a low growl.

"Okay, okay. It's just…it's a bit much. Staying over. Seeing your bedroom. And those are your pajamas." Andy gestured emphatically. "You can't blame me for—for overloading!"

Miranda's eyes darkened, but not from anger, or at least it didn't seem that way to Andy. "You really are silly, Andrea. I've only worn these once." She held up the pajamas. "As for my bedroom, it's just a room with a bed, isn't it? Granted, I would normally not ask my assistant to stay over. But you're more than my assistant, Andrea, don't you agree?"

Andy nearly sagged down the doorframe when her knees gave in. Only a last second effort to hold on saved her from utter humiliation. Miranda's words, her impossible, crazy, unrealistic, words, were throwing Andy's world off its axis. "How do you mean? More?"

"Are we really going to discuss this standing here in the doorway? You can use my bathroom to get ready for bed. I have a few things to deal with before I come to bed." Miranda pushed the pajamas toward Andy and walked downstairs.

Andy gazed around the room, fully expecting a prizewinning angora rabbit holding a damn Rolex to rush by any moment now. Her head buzzed with unanswered questions, but she couldn't think of anything else but to do as Miranda said—for now. She stepped into the bathroom, and came to a screeching halt at the sight of the cream marble tiles, the luxurious hardware, and huge, monstrous even, Jacuzzi, and the double shower stall. A door to the left included the toilet, separate from the rest, which, Andy surmised, was rather nice.

So, Miranda expected her to use her toiletries? Hesitant, Andy opened a drawer and found several new packages of toothbrushes, combs, hairbrushes and soap. Not to mention any type of facial product she could imagine. Naturally.

Cringing at the smudged eye makeup, a little more than the ever-popular smoky-eye style, Andy used Miranda's makeup removal wipes and scrubbed her face clean. She brushed her hair and put it in a bun before undressing. A quick, but oh, so amazingly wonderful shower later, she found new towels on a rack and wrapped one around herself. After donning the pajamas, she brushed her teeth and then she couldn't think of any other way to stall in the bathroom. She had to go back into Miranda's bedroom. _Shit. Her bedroom._

Andy stepped outside and jumped as Miranda returned at the same time, carrying The Book and two bottles of Perrier mineral water. "Good. You're done." Miranda raised her eyes to Andy's face and stopped in her tracks. "Oh, my." The tip of Miranda's tongue swiped across her lips.

This was crazy. Andy was ready to pinch herself. Hard. How could her nightly dreams have become so detailed, so surreal? And yet, of course she knew this was real. As insane as it was, she was in this room, with this woman, and wearing Miranda's pajamas, not to mention, some of Miranda's scent. "I don't understand. What's going on, Miranda?"

"I have to work some on The Book and then call Donatella. She's in Hawaii. Go to bed, Andrea. You're exhausted."

"Go to bed? Where?" Andy shrugged, too tired and confused to argue.

"Pay attention. Bed. There." Miranda motioned with an exaggerated gesture toward the bed right in front of them.

" _Your_ bed?"

"You don't like it?" Miranda pursed her lips.

_Crap!_ "It's beautiful, and I'm sure it's comfy, but—"

"Ah. I'm glad you see reason." Miranda marched over to the bed and pulled back the covers. She pushed some of the decorative pillows onto the floor. "There you go."

Trembling, Andy slid into bed, her body incredibly grateful, her mind equally jumbled. She pulled the duvet up and curled up. The bed really was something else. Never in her life had Andy experienced anything like this cloudlike mattress, and she closed her eyes to block out the image of the room, and of Miranda.

This tactic only lasted until she heard Miranda return from the bathroom a while later. Peering through her lashes, Andy stole a glance of Miranda and nearly gave herself away by gasping. Miranda was dressed in a knee-length nightgown of light-blue silk. Over it she wore the familiar grey robe Andy remembered from Paris. Devoid of makeup, Miranda managed to look softer, more approachable, yet sterner at the same time. She sat down in the large armchair by the window, where a floor lamp cast enough light for her to peruse The Book.

Andy enjoyed watching Miranda for a bit, but then the exhaustion took over and she fell asleep.

###

She was floating. There simply wasn't any other explanation for the warmth and comfort. Andy moaned blissfully and moved toward the enticing heat against her back. Whatever it was shifted and she heard someone give a muted gasp, but Andy just wiggled closer and snuggled down into the cloud that was her pillow.

A hand landed on her hip. Andy's eyes snapped open and found the room to be pitch black. Her mind whirled as she tried to figure out where she was, and more importantly who was in the bed with her. The hand was light and slender, not large like Nate's, her former boyfriend. A female hand. Miranda? Miranda!

Andy didn't dare move. She wasn't sure if she was afraid of Miranda removing her hand, or if she feared where it might travel. Or either. Or even neither.

"I think you are awake, Andrea. Honestly, did you think you could fool me?" Miranda's normally soft-spoken voice was barely audible.

"Oh. Um. Hello?" Andy cringed. _Hello? Geez_. "What time is it?"

"2 AM."

"Did I wake you?"

"No. I just turned out the light."

"You must be exhausted."

Miranda shifted behind her, somehow ending up even closer, her knees tucked in behind Andy's. What the hell was going on? "I admit I'm tired, but not sleepy. I…I do not sleep well, normally. Having you here is not very helpful either."

"Now wait a minute…it was your idea, this, this, me staying over. And in your bed!"

"Oh, calm down, Andrea. I know this. Don't pretend I had to twist your arm. You could have left if you wanted to. Or insisted on one of the guestrooms." Miranda sounded peeved.

"Really?" Andy sighed. Miranda was right, up to a point. "Okay, but if you sleep poorly, why would you have me crowd you?" _Answer_ **_that_**.

"Because this seemed to be…I don't know, fate?" Miranda moved her hand from Andy's hip to her head, stroking her hair back from her face. "Coming home, after feeling utterly alone for weeks, and finding you here, albeit locked inside my closet, but still, you were here. It felt right. Oh, what's the use? I can't explain it." No longer sounding peeved, Miranda was obviously frustrated, and Andy thought she detected a trace of hurt in her voice as well.

"Miranda," she began and swallowed hard. "I like when you stroke my hair." Hello? That wasn't what she meant to say. Andy closed her eyes briefly, expecting another scathing remark.

Instead, Miranda chuckled and ran her fingers through Andy's long tresses. "Something we agree on, at last. I enjoy touching your hair as well. One of your loveliest features, I think."

Miranda liked her hair. How pathetic that this would make Andy so happy, but it did. "With the risk of sounding narcissistic, what else do you approve of? If nothing else, that would give me a hint what I need to work on more?" Andy tried for self-deprecating.

"Let's see." Miranda didn't seem to mind the question. "Naturally, your eyes. Your irises are of a particularly unusual chocolate-mixed-with-brandy color. Your lips are full and without any artificial fillers. You can pull off a true red lip better than most models." Miranda quieted and cleared her throat. "I cannot go into any further detail without overstepping any boundaries."

This stole Andy's breath away. She wanted very little else than for Miranda to plunge right into and through any boundary. "Does this mean I can return the favor and let you know what I find especially attractive regarding you?"

Miranda jerked. Andy could feel it, even if she spoke evenly. "Why not? Quid pro quo, I suppose."

"I'll just start at the top since I can't rank them, all right?" Andy smiled nervously into the dark. Thank God for the dark. She was no doubt blushing profusely and didn't want Miranda to see and mock her. It didn’t help that Miranda's hand had come to rest against the junction between her neck and shoulder, just inside the collar of her pajama jacket. "Your hair. I mean, not only is it so you, iconic and all that. The few times I've accidently brushed against it…it's fragrant, and so, so, soft." Andy wasn't sure if she imagined it or if Miranda actually whimpered. "Then there are your eyes. So piercing, all-seeing, and stunningly beautiful. When you direct them at me, for whatever reason, I swear you have x-ray vision. Your nose—"

"My nose? _Not_ my best feature." Miranda huffed.

"Are you kidding? It is. It fits your face perfectly and gives you a unique beauty that isn't generic and, well, I guess, 'manufactured' like everybody else's."

"Honestly, Andrea," Miranda muttered, but her voice was softer now.

"Then, your mouth, your lips. You can skin people alive with that mouth, reduce them to tears when you're displeased. I know. You've done it to me several times. But when you on rare occasions say, ‘That doesn't look entirely horrible,’ or something like that…it makes the recipient’s day. Maybe you don't know that. Then…um…they're…" Andy felt Miranda's hand rub the side of her neck. "Your lips look so soft. Pretty. I like that Chanel Belgravia lipstick, that pink satin shade, on you. Or no lipstick at all, like tonight. And to quote you, I can't go into any further detail without overstepping any boundaries."

"Turn around, Andrea. Please."

Stunned by the “please” and by the request, Andy did as Miranda asked. Immediately after settling against the pillow she realized her mistake. Her eyes had gotten used to the darkness in the room, which meant so had Miranda's. She could easily make out the other woman's features and she felt small gusts of Miranda's breath against her face. Oh, God, this was going to be disastrous.

"You're trembling," Miranda said, her hand back on Andy's other hip. "Do I frighten you?"

_Yes._ "No. Intimidate, perhaps."

Miranda sighed. "I suppose I can't blame you.” She ran her fingertips up Andy's arm, up to the short sleeve of the pajama jacket and down to her wrist. "Your soft skin. Like velvet." Miranda's fingers trembled. "Tell me no, Andrea, if you don't care for me to touch you. Tell me."

Andy swallowed. "Please. I want you to touch me. I—I crave it." There it was, out in the open. The truth. Andy couldn't see any turning back now. She was mesmerized by this woman, and she cared so much, wanted her even more…

Miranda's breath hitched and she gripped Andy's arm firmly for a moment. "Andrea." She moved her hand again, placing two fingers under Andy's chin, tipping her head back. With the tip of her tongue, she drew a blazing trail from Andy's neck up to her mouth. "Part your lips for me," Miranda murmured.

Complying, Andy welcomed Miranda's mouth against her. Eager, yet so soft, their tongues met, over and over, in a passionate dance. Andy moaned and Miranda responded by trembling.

"I can't wait, Andrea. Forgive me." Miranda took Andy's hand and pushed it under the hem of her nightgown. She slid it up along her silky inner thighs.

Andy thought her head was going to spin right off her neck. Miranda wasn't wearing anything underneath the nightgown! She was touching Miranda Priestly's naked skin and her fingers were close to…to…oh, God, the softest wetness. As much as her mind had conjured up images, especially on her worst nights of loneliness when she'd dreamed of Miranda, Andy never could have prepared for what cupping Miranda's slick folds with their neat curls would be like.

Now, Miranda's hand pressed Andy's firmly against her, her hips rocking gently. "Touch me." Her voice was barely audible, and the vulnerable tone made Andy realize not only was Miranda tremendously aroused, she was equally terrified as well. This would not do. Not at all.

"You feel amazing," Andy said, shifting her hand slightly. Miranda's hand fell away. Andy pressed a trail of kisses along Miranda's jaw. "So soft, so wet. So damn sexy."

Shuddering, Miranda arched and rolled her hips against Andy's hand. "I can't help it…"

"Shhh. I have you. Help me out now. Spread your legs wider for me."

Miranda's eyes snapped open, homing in on Andy's as if looking for something important.

"Please, Miranda. Let me make love to you. I've dreamt of this."

"Ohhh…" Miranda parted her legs, bending the one farther away and letting it fall outward.

"Yes. Just so." Andy played with her fingers in the wetness, knowing full well her own state of arousal was at the same level. Suddenly realizing the very best way to reassure Miranda completely, Andy removed her hand. Miranda jerked and pulled back. "No, Miranda, wait." Andy pushed at her pajama pants. "Help me out of these pants, okay?"

"All right," Miranda said, her voice shaking. She pushed at the pants and soon Andy tossed them on the floor. She could smell the scent of her own arousal mix with Miranda's.

"Better," Andy said, smiling at Miranda. "Now we can both enjoy ourselves at the same time." She rolled Miranda over on her back, pushing the nightgown up over her hips in the process. "Mm. Better access. I like."

"Please, Andrea. I want you so much, it hurts." Miranda sounded strained now and clearly in agony.

"Say no more." Andy returned her hand to the wetness between Miranda's legs, fumbled a little before she located her entrance, and then her clitoris. Trying to think of what she herself liked, Andy moved her fingers in slow circles around the clit, over and over, never touching it directly. As it turned out, Miranda was far too gone for that. She was gasping and began to thrash around, her legs restlessly kicking.

"Andrea, please…oh, God, please, please…it burns…I need…You have to…" The fragmented, whimpering speech was barely intelligible.

"Inside?" Andy asked, running the tip of her tongue around Miranda's right ear.

"Yes!" Impatience and relief fought for domination as Miranda pulled her legs up.

Andy gently entered with two fingers, careful not to hurt Miranda. Hot and tight, Miranda's muscles gripped her fingers, pulling them further in. This was by far the sexiest lovemaking Andy had ever experienced. Miranda was wet, but so was Andy, and she tried to rub herself furtively against Miranda's hip.

Miranda turned her head, blindly searching for Andy's lips. "Take me. Take me, Andrea. Fill me more. Oh, _please._ "

Plunging her tongue into Miranda's mouth, Andy pressed a third finger inside Miranda, curling them up as she rubbed her thumb against her clitoris. Miranda wailed, bucked several times, inadvertently rubbing hard against Andy, and then came in one violent shudder after another.

Andy held on, her own libido not important right now; all she could think of was Miranda. Something told her that if she let go now, allowed Miranda to withdraw, she might hurt her and lose her forever. She still might lose her, it was even likely she would, but Andy thought she'd be damned if she did it by hurting her. For Miranda to let Andy see her like this, make love to her and see her lose control, was so mind-blowing, and such a responsibility, Andy knew Miranda's reaction would be vicious if she screwed up.

Caressing Miranda's back, humming quietly as she cradled the disheveled, sweaty woman in her arms, Andy tried to infuse the love, yes, love, she confessed to herself, she felt for Miranda, into her embrace. "You're so beautiful," Andy whispered. "You came so hard and it was awesome. I loved it. I love holding you like this too." She pressed her lips against Miranda's damp temple. "Mmmm…amazing. You're so damn sexy."

"Andrea?" Miranda's low voice was huskier than Andy had ever heard it before, almost broken.

"Yes, Miranda?" Andy slowed her caresses, but kept them up. Was this when Miranda would withdraw and say something utterly scathing that stripped Andy's skin right off?

"What you do to me." Miranda pushed her limp bangs out of her eyes and squinted up at Andy. "How…Where did that come from? This passion?"

"Oh, Miranda, it's been a long time coming." Andy kissed her lips gently. "I never dared to dream it though."

"Dream it, you say?" Miranda sounded more like herself, but her voice was still without malice. "What else did you dream?"

Andy felt her cheeks warm and feared Miranda would see her blush a fluorescent crimson. "Um. I don't think you want the details." She hid her face in Miranda's fragrant hair.

"Oh, but I do," Miranda purred and now her hands began a journey of their own. "I demand you tell me."

Oh yeah, she was back all right. Damn, she recuperated fast. "Some of what we already did. Um. Different, eh, position, kind of. And, well, you know?"

"No, that's just it, darling. I don't know." Miranda pressed her lips to Andy's neck and sucked at her pulse point. "Mm. You're delicious. Was that part of your dream?"

"Yes."

"As your skin is so tasty, other parts of you might be too, yes?"

"I…I wouldn't know."

"I suppose you don't go around tasting yourself," Miranda conceded, a smile in her voice. "I will just have to ascertain and report back to you."

"What? Oh. Ohhh…"

Miranda unbuttoned Andy's pajama jacket and pushed it off her arms. Turning quickly, she turned on a small bedside lamp that rendered the room a faint, rosy glow. Andy froze, but then she realized that this was her chance to actually watch Miranda, to memorize her body for later when she was back in her lonely apartment.

Miranda kissed her way down to Andy's chest and hovered above her left nipple. "This in your dream?"

"Mm-hm." Andy nodded, at a loss for words. The sight of Miranda, enticingly tousled and naked—when had she lost the nightgown?—was enough to render a normally talkative person speechless.

"So be it." Miranda took Andy's nipple in her mouth and worked it relentlessly with her tongue. Scraping it very lightly with her teeth, she then made Andy whimper loudly when she bit down on it and tugged. Conscientiously, Miranda treated the other nipple the same way, and then went back and forth between the two bright red puckered areas until Andy was sobbing her name.

"I like how your mind works, the dreams you come up with." Miranda was almost as breathless. "So, now, what else? I realize we might not be able to cover everything tonight, since you're an aspiring writer with a vast imagination, I surmise. Tell me the best dream that comes to mind."

Andy trembled. How would she even dare to do this? To tell this woman her innermost dreams and secret hopes? It was all so intimate and to take that leap of faith…Andy closed her eyes briefly, trying to figure out if she dared. A part of her wanted nothing more than to reenact some of her dreams, hell, _all_ of them, with the woman she loved, that she yearned for. Another part went into self-preservation mode and told her not to subject herself to ridicule or—worse—potential dismay on Miranda's part.

"Trust me, Andrea." Miranda's voice made Andy snap her eyes open. Miranda was waiting, all the time caressing her in long, languid movements. "Tell me."

Suddenly Andy knew this was as important as holding Miranda so tenderly after making love to her. If she couldn't trust Miranda after what they'd just experienced, she'd end up hurting her nonetheless. "Sometimes when I can't sleep, I dream or fantasize," Andy began, "that you come to my apartment after some event or other. You tell me you need me for something, and then you…" Andy swallowed, her cheeks burning. She wanted to hide her face against Miranda's neck, but the need to look into Miranda's eyes and gauge her reaction kept their eyes locked together.

"Then?" Miranda whispered, her voice trembling.

"Then you nudge me toward the bedroom, telling me to take my clothes off. When I'm naked, you order me to lie down on my stomach on the bed—"

"God almighty, Andrea!" Miranda shifted in bed, flipping Andy into the position she just described. Straddling Andy's hips, she leaned forward, whispering hotly in her ear. "What do I do then?"

"You spread my legs and push a pillow underneath."

"Very well." Miranda moved and shoved a pillow under Andy's hips. She parted her legs. "Yes?"

"Oh, damn…you…oh, please, Miranda…"

"Tell me." Miranda's voice was low and gruff, but the pattern she drew with her hand on Andy's back was gentle.

"You say you'll make sure I know whom I belong to."

"Wh-what?" Miranda's hand stopped moving.

Andy sobbed. Only once, but tears began to prickle behind her eyelids. What was Miranda thinking? She wanted to burst out “you asked!”, but she kept silent.

"Go on." Miranda resumed the caresses.

"You tell me you intend to take me, all of me, without mercy," Andy whispered, not sure how Miranda would react to this.

"And you? How did you react to this fantasy? When you thought of this particular scenario, Andrea?"

"Oh, shit. I can't…I can't…"

"You can, and you will."

"What do you _think_?" Andy asked, her voice nearly broken. "Just like now, trembling, wet, and oh, God, I can hardly breathe…"

"Wet…mmm…" Suddenly, Miranda's hand was between Andy's thighs, sliding up to cup her from behind. "Like so? Yes. Just like so, I think."

Andy nearly blacked out. Miranda. Was. Touching. Her. No matter how she'd fantasized and pictured such an unlikely scenario, the sensation of having Miranda touch her intimately was unlike anything she'd ever visualized, let alone experienced. Gasping for air, Andy moved her hips, pressing her hips into the pillow. But if she thought Miranda was done asking questions, she was clearly wrong.

"What do I do then?"

"You—you, g-go inside."

"How?" Miranda asked in this special tone of voice, as if she already knew what Andy would never be able to say. She just couldn't.

"Just inside."

"I don't think just inside." Miranda stretched out half on top of Andy, caressing her gently, spreading the wetness everywhere. Oh, God, yes, she knew.

"Miranda, please."

"Yes?"

"Please."

"Darling, you wish me to make you mine?"

"Yes!" Shaking all over, Andy pulled another one of the pillows close and held on to it.

"Like so?" Miranda positioned two fingers at Andy's entrance. She pushed inside firmly, but with care. "And, I think, like this?" Miranda pressed her thumb against the puckered orifice above.

Andy cried out, her body already starting to convulse. "Miranda, Miranda…" She had no idea what she said after that. Miranda's incredible intuition, and the way she made the caresses feel so loving, and so hot and passionate, left no room for thoughts or words. The caresses burned her, threw her into a lava stream of bliss and she curled up in fetal position.

When she came back to reality, Miranda had her arms around her, much like Andy had hugged Miranda before.

"You're safe, darling. You're here in my arms," Miranda murmured and nuzzled Andy's hair, rubbing her nose through it, kissing her ear. "There."

"Miranda?" Andy whispered.

"You thirsty?"

"Yeah. Yes."

"Here." Miranda held a Perrier to Andy's lips. She drank several large gulps.

"Thanks." Andy settled back onto Miranda's shoulder.

"You're welcome." Miranda pulled the cover closer around them.

"Miranda?"

"Yes, Andrea?"

"That was amazing."

"I agree."

"I—You do?" Andy shifted to be able to look at Miranda.

"You, my darling, are the most responsive, the sexiest person I've ever met."

"Wow."

Miranda colored faintly. "This has been quite the night for firsts."

"I'd say." Andy smiled. "As much as I've dreamed of it, I would've called anyone a cruel liar if they'd tried to convince me this could ever happen.

"I would've fired them." Miranda's eyes sparkled.

"I bet." Andy laughed.

"You realize the outcome of this night though, don't you?" Miranda looked deadly serious again.

"Um. I—well, I hope, of course. Why don't you give me your opinion?" Andy bit into her lower lip and tightened her arms around Miranda.

"It's quite simple. You're mine. I will not allow anything else." For all her brave and decisive words, Miranda's eyes betrayed concern and something close to fear. This sealed the deal for Andy.

"Yes. I am. I can't think of a time when I wasn't in one way or another." Andy kissed Miranda's lips gently. "As long as you're mine as well, then I can't think of anyone else I'd rather belong to."

Miranda kept staring at Andy for so long she started thinking something was very, very wrong.

"Hey. What's—"

"Oh, my God, Andrea." All the air Miranda had kept from moving rushed from her lungs and she slumped back against Andy. "To echo your words, I can't think of anyone else I'd rather belong to."

They settled down among the pillows and Andy had never felt so warm or safe as she did right now. Miranda's eyes had taken on a whole new expression, a soft, tender, and happy look that made her even more beautiful.

"We have a lot of things to figure out," Miranda murmured sleepily as she spooned Andy. "The strange thing is that I'm not at all concerned. This is rather unlike me. I normally expect the worst."

"So, in Miranda-speak, this means you have faith in us and know we'll work through whatever hurdles we encounter?"

"Yes." Miranda chuckled. "Something like that." She pressed a kiss beneath Andy's ear. "One good thing is that my girls already think the world of you."

"As your assistant…"

"As a person. Trust me, I know my girls. They will, given proper time, be fine with this."

Who was Andy to argue with Miranda Priestly when she was dead certain about something? Andy merely took Miranda's hand and wrapped it around her. Everything was going to be all right.

"Sleep tight, Andrea."

"You too."

"I love you."

"M-Miranda?" Wide awake, Andy turned her head back so fast she felt her neck muscles spasm.

"I thought you should know." Miranda smiled hesitantly.

"Oh, Miranda." Melting, Andy smiled broadly as tears ran freely down her cheeks. "I love you too."

"You're far too easy to hurt," Miranda said, wiping at Andy's cheeks. "You need me to help toughen you up."

Hiccupping, Andy, was torn between laughter and tears, but chose the first. "You're hired. You're the perfect person for the job."

"I'm the perfect person for you. Period. Now stop causing so much commotion. We need our sleep, judging from tonight's activities."

Andy complied and snuggled down again. "Yes, Miranda." Never happier, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

###

End


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